The Surgeon’s Scars: Running From My Past

The hotel room was a whirlwind of activity. Adria moved like an automaton, throwing clothes into her suitcase. She didn't fold anything. She just needed to be gone.

Her phone lit up on the bed. A news notification.

BREAKING: Actress Campbell Lowe involved in minor collision. Hansen Heir spotted rushing into Lenox Hill ER.

Adria picked up the phone. The photo was blurry, taken from a distance. It showed Damon, his tuxedo jacket gone, carrying Campbell in his arms toward the emergency entrance. It looked romantic. Heroic.

Adria let out a short, dry laugh. It sounded like something breaking.

Her phone rang. Mother.

She answered, putting it on speaker as she zipped the suitcase.

"Adria! Where are you?" Mrs. Barr's voice was shrill. "You left without saying goodbye to Mrs. Hansen. And where is Damon? People are talking."

"He's at the hospital," Adria said, her voice flat. "With Campbell."

"Oh," her mother paused. "Well, that girl always was dramatic. But really, Adria, you need to fight for your place. You just ran away. It makes you look weak."

Weak.

Adria looked at her shaking hands. She looked at the scars on her soul that her mother couldn't see.

"Goodbye, Mother," Adria said. She hung up. She had never hung up on her mother before.

She grabbed her bag and walked out.

At Lenox Hill Hospital, the fluorescent lights hummed with an irritating buzz.

Damon stood in the private trauma room, staring at Campbell. She was sitting on the bed, holding a tissue to her nose. There was a small scratch on her cheek. A Band-Aid would have sufficed.

"My neck hurts, Damon," she whined, reaching for him. "I think I have whiplash."

Damon looked at her with pure, unadulterated loathing. "You drove your car into a parked fire hydrant at five miles an hour, Campbell. The airbags didn't even deploy."

"I was upset!" she cried. "Because of her!"

Damon's personal assistant, a sharp-faced man named Ken, hurried into the room. He looked nervous.

"Mr. Hansen," Ken whispered. "I have the information."

Damon turned away from Campbell instantly. "Tell me."

"She changed her ticket," Ken said. "She's on the 6:00 AM flight to Nanxi City. It just took off."

Damon felt the floor drop out from under him. Gone. She was gone again.

He spun around, grabbing his jacket off the chair.

"Damon? Where are you going?" Campbell screeched. "You can't leave me!"

Damon stopped at the door. He looked back at her. "Get an Uber, Campbell. Or call your agent. I don't care."

"If you walk out that door, I'll tell the press you abandoned me!"

"Tell them whatever you want," Damon said, his voice deadly calm. "I'm done."

He walked out, leaving her screaming his name.

He pulled out his phone as he strode down the hospital corridor, dialing a number he knew by heart.

"Prep the Gulfstream," he ordered. "I'm going to Nanxi City. File a flight plan. Now."

He hung up and dialed again.

"Chief Harrell."

The voice on the other end was groggy. "Hansen? It's 1 AM in Nanxi City."

"That transfer request," Damon said, pushing through the hospital doors into the cool night air. "I'm calling in a favor. I want Station 19."

There was a pause. "Station 19? The penal colony? Are you sure? That's a political minefield, Hansen, even for you."

"I don't care," Damon said, getting into his car. He slammed the door and ignited the engine. "I want the transfer effective immediately."

"Okay," Harrell sighed. "Welcome to the rainy city."

Damon peeled out of the parking lot, the engine roaring. He looked up at the sky, where the first light of dawn was breaking.

Run all you want, Adria, he thought, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his leather gloves creaked. I'll chase you to the ends of the earth.